


Seducing Mr. Holmes

by Idunn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chubby Reader, Discussion of sexual assault, Dom Mycroft Holmes, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Sex, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Dom/sub, Not Beta Read, Past Sexual Assault, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Submissive Character, fat reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 14,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idunn/pseuds/Idunn
Summary: You are working for the NSY, but Mr. Holmes has a better offer to satisfy your thirst... for doing good work, that's it.There's an undercurrent of lust and a desire to submit to this amazing man, and Mycroft just wants, and he shouldn't, but he will if you let him.Short chapters, inspired by my Spotify Playlist.-(Now complete!)





	1. Chapter One: Dark In My Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta reader! Please be gentle with me.- (Now complete!)

You created the playlist, a bit of shame coursing thorough your veins, making you feel giddy and light-headed. It was the silliest thing you could have done. You´re sure Mr. Holmes has protocols in place to research in the internet when someone uses his name, or more accurately, Sherlock´s name to type anything. But it was too much of a temptation.

«Oh my God! If, for some strange design I could get up and close to Mycroft Holmes, the least I will do will be ogling him from head to toe! A girl needs something to fuel out the odd fantasy, after all...»

The eldest of the Holmes brother was someone you didn’t know personally, after all. The first time you saw him was outside of the Yard, smoking a cigarette and talking all posh in his mobile phone. You’re sure he knows you like «the fat girl with the crush» because you watch him like a hawk every time he’s at the Yard to see Inspector Lestrade. 

They say he’s the smart one. And if he’s clever than Sherlock, you shiver in fear of what he could deduce about you.

We´re all goldfish to them, the Holmes. 

You think you’re a cut goldfish, all the same. And a cleverer fish than other people. But you don’t have any hope to make Mr. Holmes turn his head in your direction. Not that smart, not that cute. But you like to think of him, the Ice Man. You bet he could be tender. And passionate. That voice does things to you. And the suits! You love the suits. And the kind of coiled snake energy he carries himself with.

They are dangerous, the Holmes brothers. But a girl can dream, innit?

(I just wanted to fuck him/ because I wanted something powerful/ at my feet)


	2. Chapter Two: Erase and Rewind

Not the first time you got chewed up, but the first time Inspector Lestrade got to do the chewing. 

Of course you knew it wasn’t smart to take information outside of the Yard, but it got the case resolved, after all. At least give me that, you thought.

-... suspended for two days, without pay. Please leave and close the door after you.- Lestrade had a hand over his eyes, like he was fighting a migraine.

-But, sir, at least I want to explain... I gathered the intel, and it was so easy, a bloody monkey could have deduced the Linetti gang was behind it! I just... I was so sure...- you feel your face red, tears filling up your eyes, but you’re not going to cry, you’re a strong and smart woman, he has to see it, you did it! You solved the case!  
-YOU´RE NOT BLOODY SHERLOCK, OK! YOU ARE JUST A DATA ANALIST, THAT´S YOUR JOB! DO YOU WANT TO HAVE A WEEK OF SUSPENSION? BE MY GUEST! NOW OUT!- Lestrade opened the door of his office and with a firm hand in your forearm, took you out to the hallway and slammed the door closed. 

You feel your tears (cold in your hot cheeks, your nose filled with snot and chest heaving), and run to the ladies bathroom, until you’re presentable enough to leave the Yard without feeling like a fool.

You spend the next week crying, cooking, gorging in food and sleeping. Watching bad Netflix shows and crying a little more. And if in those moments just before sleep you smile to yourself, thinking «Is like this like Sherlock Holmes feel all the time?» like, satisfaction, and reckless, you don’t say anything to anybody.

Lestrade never mentions the incident again. 

But he watches you more, now.


	3. Chapter Three: Your Woman

That woman was here again. You watched her over the edge of the monitor, knowing you were somewhat concealed from those in the lobby because of the ficus leaves dangling from the planter to your right. She had a nice but odd name (Athenea?) and you watched her like a hawk because, if she’s he, that means Mr. Holmes is here, presumably with Inspector Lestrade. 

She’s so beautiful. Long, wavy hair, all soft and stuff. Lean, but not skinny. She has the same energy as his boss, like a snake ready to strike. Or like a gun.

She’s almost always in her phone, except when talking to her boss. The guys at the Yard had a bet of who’s going on a date with her, but she has shot them down all off (thank God, not literary). It must be very annoying, having guys fawning over you all the time, but it must be a little bit nice too...

You’ve had some one night stands, and you know you’re somewhat attractive. You’re a charmer, that’s it. And you know your way on the dance floor. And you’re smart. A smart, cute goldfish.

«But not enough, never enough for a man like Mr. Holmes. Not in a million years.»

You listen to firm steps going into the lobby and you recognize Mycroft Holmes deep beautiful voice. He’s in his phone, of course, and strides through the lobby like a man in a mission. 

Just before getting thorough the door, he turns in your direction and you blush, certain he saw you looking at him like a schoolgirl with a crush.

You hide, like a fool. Besides, why he would look at you? You weren’t nothing special.

You were no one.


	4. Chapter Four: Mr. Sandman

In your dreams, you see him. Or, more accurately, you feel him. His beautiful hand on your throat, encircling but nor squeezing, like he wanted to measure you for a necklace. Or a choker.

He’s behind you; you feel the heat of his body and the long planes of his torso were your head is resting. His other hand is at your hip, almost crushing it with force: you’re sure tomorrow will have bruises from his hands in your left side. Painful, beautiful bruises. Something to remember him.

His hand on your throat descends to you chest, scratching you deeply in long, burning movements. His body feels powerful at your back; this is a man who could kill you if he were so inclined, but you’re not scared. 

You’re turned on.

He’s not here to fuck you, even if you feel his erection poking you at your butt. He is here because he wants you scared of him, and he knows this is what you want, to feel him like a snake, all your body enveloped by his strong arms, like dying in the embrace of a powerful beast.

You wake up covered in sweat, your underwear soaking wet, and a migraine. You get up, take a shower and naked in bed, look for the (sneaky sneaky) photo you took of him, a blurry pitiful thing on your phone. You were hiding behind the ficus leaves again, but this time with shaky hands you took a picture, feeling a little bit like a spy - but the picture is not there. You erased it?

You look for it in your phone, and in your computer, and your last resource: your email. Nothing.  
Maybe a glitch? You thought to yourself.

Maybe is better this way, with no photo. After all, is a little bit like spying in the British Government.

Maybe is better.

You sleep naked, waiting for the dream to come back. Hoping for the dream to come back.


	5. Chapter Five: Formidable

You feel like a cold is coming, so, off to the clinic you go. Sally told you John Watson is an OK physician in a pinch, and you’re too shy to see someone you don’t know. 

So, after a bit of a wait, Dr. Watson is there, listening to your chest and telling you you have a bronchitis, to take care of yourself and at least three days off. He’s nice, like almost too nice, and you don’t know how he puts with Sherlock Holmes at all.

Off course, that’s not what you spout off.

-So, do you know Sherlock´s brother? The guy in the suits?- you say, regretting it almost immediately. Dr. Watson is writing you a script, and he looks up at you and smiles. A weird sort of smile.

-Fancy a bloke in a nice suit, innit? You’ll have better luck with Lestrade, and I know he’s not the kind of romancing the staff, so, I don’t know if you get my meaning. 

You feel awful because of the fever, you’re sure. Of course Dr. Watson would see through you like you were crystal. He’s the blogger of the Consulting Detective after all.

-He is OK, that’s all. A posh guy in a suit, of course a girl would want to rumple him a bit, you know? Totally normal - you say, hoping your bold words cover how stupid you feel, having your crush so ...there.

Dr. Watson smiles, like he gets it. And you go home, with a little bag full of pills and indications to take it easy and lots of fluids and rest.

Behind you, a street camera turns as you cross the street, almost like it was following you. Far away, a public phone rings and rings and rings.


	6. Chapter Six: Dangerous Woman

You smell him before seen him in the side walk. It’s almost noon, and you hadn’t got anything all morning except for a very sad looking tangerine. Sherlock Holmes was there, in all his cheekbony glory, smoking a full tar cigarette, for the smell of it.

He looks at you, and sneers. 

-If you value your life - he said, stubbing the cigarette against the side of the building - you will say no to his «offer» - he did the thing with his hands, eyes bright. -Of course that doesn’t mean he wont kill you for the slight, but at least you will die a free woman. Something to consider, I guess. 

He looks at you a last time before turning around and signalling a cab, that stopped almost instantly. But of course, you were too busy having a panic attack to pay a lot of attention to that.

You got yourself to the shop, selected a chicken panini and paid for it, almost in a daze. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be almost like an Oracle, isn’t it? Lestrade called him to consult in the most difficult cases. And he knew things about people. Like, if they washed their hair with, I don’t know, Loreal or organic handmade soap, or if they cheated on their spouses (you heard things, about Lestrade´s wife and the Christmas party. That was BRUTAL).

So, the Freak was telling you someone wanted to kill you? You knew no one who wanted to kill you, except for maybe, some disgruntled scammer you testified against in court? You didn’t have that kind of job! You weren’t a copper, you’re just an analyst. And a junior analyst, at that. 

You crossed the street, feeling like every gust of wind was a hand in your shoulder and every footstep was someone chasing you. You cant eat the panini. You get a cab home, tears in your eyes, and flip every light switch on. Sleep doesn’t come for a long time.


	7. Chapter Seven: Everything I Want

A couple of weeks later, nothing happens. You’ve talked with Sally and Lestrade: the first one wanted to kneed the Freak in the balls for scaring you, «just the Freak being his usual cocky self, don’t worry»; and Lestrade said something similar, laughing a bit but he kept an eye on you all the same, taking you home in his car if you were working late. Very Dad-like.

Now you’re out with your girls at a club, against your better wishes of Netflix and chocolate. At least there’s is some beer and you dance a little, feeling self-conscious all the time. Not one guy asks you to dance, and even if is more of the same, it stings a bit. You’re drunk and maudlin, so you tell your girlfriends you are off and that every one needs to text when they get home, and get out of the club. Some people are milling outside the place and is freezing so you take your mobile to call for a cab, when a black posh car stops in front of you. It seems familiar in some way that your beer-addled brain cannot comprehend.

The door opens and it’s Mr. Holmes secretary. Athena? Anette?

She looks at you and makes a gesture for you to climb on. Your face feels hot.

-No, don’t worry, I’m calling a cab, see?- you say, showing her the screen of your phone. 

Anette stands next to the open door, when a face you know so well by now shows itself from the back seat.

-Be so kind to get on, girl. The chill is getting bothersome- the ginger man says, his face a mask of politeness. But no one is so polite at... three in the morning.

You climb in the car, next to the man that has starred in your latest fantasies. And off you go.


	8. Chapter Eight: Where You Belong

The ride to your place is almost silent. Athenea is sitting in the front seat, you guess, so is just you and Mr. Holmes in the back seat of the car. Is a beautiful piece of engineering: leather seats, mini bar, an engine almost silent and the smoothest ride ever. 

You look at Mr. Holmes as sneakily as you can, so, not at all. You’re drunk and cold, and he’s there looking like a right snack in a dark green suit, tie straight like a ruler, not a hair out of place. It’s making you feel under dressed. After all, your black dress and leggings are surely rumpled and you have a stain in your dress form a girl splashing you with her fruity cocktail earlier.

He looks at you too, and you feel a little bit like a bug. A sorry looking bug. He sighs like a disappointed teacher, and extracts a large brown envelope from somewhere. He plops the whole thing in your lap. Is bulging with papers and documents, but you don’t see too much of it before he speaks.

-I see my darling brother got to you before I could make my offer. I wont «kill you» - he says, his voice taking in a mocking tone - but I want you to know that the work I want you for is... classified. So, here’s my offer, or, better said, the British Government offer. You wont be working with me directly, so, the problem with your crush on me wont have to be addressed. Were all adults in here, I hope, isn’t it, Miss? I know you’re not a British citizen by birth, but I hope the British people has been endearing enough for you to consider this very carefully all the same. After all, all that you want is to be recognised and praised, no? What better praise that to be singled out for working with MI6?- he finished.

I cant speak. My throat is dry like a bone.

Someone opened the door of the car, and Annette told me that we were at my place. I got out in very shaky legs.

Mr. Holmes gave me a last look from the open door.

-I’m giving you the chance to do an important job, the job other people would kill to have. Don’t waste it.

Athena closed the door and the car took of, and I stayed at the curb, the cold of Autumn seeping into my clothes.

Paralysed.


	9. Chapter Nine: Wolves

Coming into the offices of MI6 was weird, but not so weird as the going away party at the Yard. Anthea (Uh. You know her «real» name now) suggested faking your own suicide, but you’re almost sure it was a joke. After all, you never now when your old connections could be handy.

Besides, at the Yard were some of the persons you considered real friends.

You didn’t told them the truth, but you’re sure Inspector Lestrade knows. Mostly, his kind of resigned face gives him away. Hess in his phone a lot, tonight. Writing messages and cussing at anyone who’s the other side of the line.

Dr. Watson is at the pub too. He buys you a pint and gives you his phone number, not without blushing profusely («I’m sorry, not interested!I mean, you’re a lovely woman, of course, but, just in case you need to talk to somebody, I mean, no judgements of course, and let me tell you: I know how it is. Don’t ask, but I know, OK? So, if you want to someone who can keep a secret... ring me».)

You arrive home, new clothes at the ready in your bedroom, a new phone issued by the office, and the anxiety is killing you. You wont sleep easily.

So you try to get to sleep imagining Mr. Holmes silky voice, fantasising of him (is not like I have to see his face tomorrow, isn’t it?) touching you softly all over your clothes, soft, firm strokes like someone petting a dog. He would tell you to rest at his feet, as he sits in a beautiful sofa in one of his impeccable suits. A fire is crackling close by, and you smell the wood burning as he drinks something amber and expensive in a beautiful glass. He feeds you pomegranates, seed by seed until his hands are as red as your mouth.

Your dream of something warm that night, but couldn’t remember about what exactly as you wake up.-


	10. Chapter Ten: My Two Cents

«Did you miss me?» You got to watch the Moriarty video as you were at lunch at your desk, frozen in fear.

He was supposed to be dead... for almost two years now. But, if Sherlock got to fake his death, maybe he faked his too... you thought to yourself, dumping the salad you wire eating and starting to walk to Anthea´s office almost a block over. 

Your department hasn’t got an official name, but in the office lingo is know as «Connections». You are not the boss, but the left hand of your boss, as he is fond of saying (William is left-handed). After little more of a year and a half, you know almost every one in your building, and report, in occasion, directly to Mr. Holmes. 

Anthea is your principal connection with Mr. Holmes, but you could count with the fingers of one hand the times he talked to you in that year and a half.

It was not like it was necessary. After all, a cog is a cog in the endless machine of the British Government.

But you missed seeing his handsome mug now and again. So, you always volunteered to hand-deliver the reports of your office to Anthea, who knows about your crush and doesn’t laugh in your face. And she likes your cupcakes. 

But today she isn’t in, so he isn’t in either. Wherever they are, they are in danger, and a frisson of fear for your superiors runs along your spine.

You had the chance to check a little about the MORiarty Network. So, you know how dangerous that guy could be.

Maybe is time to invest a little bit in your personal life. If you are going to die (England in ruins, the world in economical collapse, nuclear war, a fatal virus or maybe just a bullet to the face, who knows), you are going to have serious FUN.

Moriarty coming back means trouble. Is time to stop hiding and start living, because, with a madman like that outside in the world, everyone is a target.-


	11. Chapter Eleven: Nocturnal

Mr. Holmes came back a changed person, after the Moriarty announcements. Nothing too overt. but he was different. A touch nervous, maybe. A little bit thin in the face, suits hung up more. He took longer trips, sometimes with Anthea and sometimes not; but always that feeling of being of edge, like the unlucky side of a blade, if a thing like that exists. 

Your crush is going strong, but it feels more like protection, now. You take to bring to the office baked goods for your co-workers; old family recipes and Pinterest ones. You don’t know what are you looking for, until one night when you came back for your charger, after a hellish day.

He is with his back to you, leafing through your report, a piece of apple cake in his hand, the thing crumbling slightly. 

He starts a little as your trainer scuffs the linoleum. Your face (and other parts, don’t be a liar now) feel rather hot.

-Sorry, Sir. Just, getting my charger. I hope - you say, trying to signal him to let you through, eyes downcast to the floor. When he stays there, right in the door, you touch his forearm softly, letting him know you’re there.

He makes a tiny sound as your hand grazes his suit, your eyes shooting to his face. He is looking at you, and it terrifies you, what he sees in you. That you’re a lonely woman with lots of friends, but few close people? That is killing you being close to him, dreaming of him frequently, and his perfume gives you a thirst for his touch. What he would think of you, a fatty who eats her feelings? Do you have a chance of him seeing you something other than a moderately clever goldfish?

You drop his hand and retreat with alacrity, feeling your eyes full of tears for no reason.

-I will see you tomorrow Sir, sorry for bothering you!- You say, fleeing the building. You cry as you get your cab, the cabbie looking at you with worried eyes, until you said to him «boy troubles» and he makes a bad joke, and you chat of other things until you get home.

As you get to open the door, a thing in the floor catches your attention. Is your charger, right there in the floor. A warm feeling suffuses you, and that night you sleep dreamlessly, deeply.-


	12. Chapter Twelve: Cells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It needs to be said, I guess... This fic is... kind of a therapeutic exercise. I´m looking for clues about myself that only can be found in writing. Still, I hope that this resonates with some of the readers of my fic. Or, at least, they enjoy this weird ride!

This was not your day, at all. You forgot to buy coffee grounds, so, no quiet cup of coffee at home; your cab was late and you were late for work, so your supervisor gave you a death glare and at least three new files to research about; and of course, you left your calorie-conscious lunch at home; that avocado/radish/cheese wrap is going to be disgusting when you got home.

And Mr. Holmes had requested you in his office by 10.35. Oh joy. You hope he is not going to scold you about last night. After all, you’re sure he already knows everything, even the things you yourself don’t know about you. And, is not like you can control what you are feeling, at all. And it isn’t affecting your work, of course. After all, we are all adults here, no?

Is 10.28 and you’re waiting outside his door, not Anthea in sight. Mr. Holmes didn’t like people to be early, but not as much when someone is tardy. Exactness is a science you don’t comprehend.

At 10.34, you knock up at his door and a buzzer lets you in. There´s just Mr. Holmes inside, a perfect picture of a gentleman of the Crown as ever.

He shuffles some papers on his desk, making a gesture until you find yourself in front of his desk. At another hand wave, you sit in a chair. You see in his eyes that he knows how uncomfortable you are (tiny chair with metal arms an big, big thighs; not a winner combination), but he doesn’t dwell in that, sliding a metal pendrive and a new, shiny access card at you.

-From today, you are working in this office. Your new card, that you will need to access this part of the building, and your new project. This is, and I shouldn’t remark on it, but this is your first project of this nature so I will make an exception, all classified information. Classified. Not taking files home to pour over, not chit-chat with others, except myself and, if the occasion arises, someone I would have cleared beforehand personally, is that clear? And from tomorrow, you will be shadowing Anthea in some of her duties; I need someone on the ground to act as her second. Do you understand?- he is talking with his usual calmness, but your head is in overdrive.

He lets you panic for a moment until, with a gentler expression in his face, he does his best to reassure you.

-Miss, let me be clear: you are not here on a whim. I personally vetted every one of the analysts working in my office. You have been of use, you have proved your worth for this kind of job and- he stands and you stand, realizing you are being ushered out- let me tell you one more thing. I make good use of the things that are useful to me.- His beautiful, beautiful eyes were on mine for a moment, just before he opened the door to let me out.

-Now, talk to Anthea, let her show you your new station. I will be waiting for your preliminary report in two days time. And, good day.- The door closed in my face, and in that moment I realized, I never uttered a word in the whole meeting. 

And, in the dead of night, as I touched myself, longing for sleep, I wished with all my strength that he made good use of me.

That was all I wanted.


	13. Chapter Thirteen. Do I Wanna Know?

Mycroft closed the door to his office, letting out a forceful whisper, heart thundering in his chest. 

The new analyst had a way to annoy him. She was smart enough, but weak, disturbingly so. 

«Caring is not an advantage».

That’s the kind of person you need to be, to survive in this business. And that woman was someone so not ... Just no. The sentiment... 

Of course he knew that, even if she shows promise, she’s too soft, too kind to be the one he needs her to be. But Mycroft didn’t want to think too much about how he disregarded his own advice (and his brother´s) to allow that girl to work for him.

Of course it wasn’t the obvious crush thing. Oh, she is certainly what other would call «cute», all shiny eyes and sunny disposition. Her body... Her form was deceptively sensuous; her skin looks soft and her   
buttocks and her belly looked like a place to rest his head; he could image too easily long afternoons of cloudy skies, reading his favourite book with his head on her lap.

Her cleavage gives him palpitations. He tries not to look in her direction, if he can avoid it. Safer.

Mycroft sits behind his desk, thinking about who’s got a crush on who. Is not every day something so clear bypasses his own thought process. He should fire her, or at least find her another position, a place far away, where the temptation of checking on her could be satiated via CCTV, if needs must.

But she’s useful, that’s true. She has a way with data; not like a Holmes (never, never like a Holmes. Three of them - and Moriarty, a soft voice whispered - where enough), but good enough. And now they need every advantage. 

Mycroft checks the video feed outside his office. She’s talking with Anthea and nodding a lot, so probably working in a schedule to train her, as he asked her to do. Anthea had a smirk in her lips as he asked her to have the girl shadow her; a slight upturn lip right side. He knows exactly how this looks; a middle aged man infatuated with a cute young thing. 

It should bother him more. 

He is not lonely. He doesn’t need nobody.

There’s things much more important to care about.

That night, he asks Anthea to up the girl’s security clearance to level Three.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Eri Come L´Oro Ora Sei Come Loro

The first time Mr. Holmes sent you to Baker Street, you know is a test. A test of character. Maybe not the final test (every day, every second is a test), but...

Just to deliver a message. Why this couldn’t be by message, you didn’t know. Thank God. it was John who opened the door, so the first impact was somewhat dulled by his presence in the flat, but you knew, you knew Sherlock Holmes god-damned tongue was going to hurt you. It was his nature.

Sherlock Holmes in all his suited (Westwood?) glory, snickered when he saw you. Your feet hurt in the new shoes, not a «necessary thing», but an encouraged one by Anthea. After all, the appearance of power is power in itself, she said. You didn’t feel very powerful, but achy, and sweaty, and uncomfortable under the youngest Holmes gaze.

He looked at you from his chair, not saying a word but gestured to make you get closer to him. As you gave him the file to him (something about clean energy?), he yanked your left wrist, revealing a tiny scar of not more than 6 mm in longitude. You didn’t protest. You know what was he looking for.

-I didn’t expect you caved so easily to my brother´s whims. The three chip method is a little overkill, isn’t it? Wrist, hipbone and tight? I don’t think you need that kind of protection. You don’t look at all like someone deserving of that high surveillance, even with your... knowledge. Maybe my brothers interest in you is of a more personal... nature?- he said, carelessly. You feel your face of fire, the silence of the flat and Johns whispered «Don’t be a cock, Sherlock!». 

-Mr. Holmes- you said, your voice cracking a bit, throat raspy - has asked to look up in this matter. He is.. complicated at the moment. A National Security matter, he said.-

-I’m sorry - said John, the perfect host - care for a cup of tea, N...-

-Don’t be an idiot, John, not her name any more. I’m sure you’ve choose something better than «Anthea» - Sherlock said, with a face of disgust. 

-I go by Idunn now, sir. If that’s what you’re asking.- He looked at you, a face of disappointment.

-I like it - said John, ever the gentleman. - So, about that cuppa...- he shows you the kettle, and you give him the first smile of the day.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Ella Usó Mi Cabeza Como Un Revólver

Mycroft had been following her as discretely as he could. Even then, he was sure Anthea knew. There was not much Anthea didn’t know, being his second; and of course, a man of his station wouldn’t be caught doing something so crass like tracking his new aide´s steps. It was at home, in his highly encrypted computer, with a brandy in a beautifully cut glass, he took the time to watch Idunn in the security videos.

Of course Sherlock had sent him several messages criticizing his taste in women, asking him if he was ashamed of his «weakness» for chubby women and if he was turning to a «feeder», whatever that was; after a cursory search in Google Mycroft closed his laptop with a click and decided that was enough internet for tonight.

A little self reflection wont go amiss, he thought. His «fascination» with his aide something he feel ashamed of; after all, she was at least sixteen years his junior. Not a minor in any case, but he feels a little bit like a dirty old man, panting after a young thing. 

There was something in her. An envy, of how she fills a space. She´s brave, daring. Smart. Brilliant, even. Maybe not aide material, but it was almost a compulsion, when he had met her for the first time, like, properly. That girl was charming, and she didn’t know. It was part of the reason that had him assigned her Sherlock duty; she would be successful where Anthea or, even him couldn’t be. 

Her sweetness, he thought. Her devotion, the admiration in her eyes, every time he entered a room. Her wish to... surrender. 

Was a heady thing, that kind of power over someone. And it wasn’t like he didn’t experiment with that kind of head games; after all, a man in his position needed to be capable of playing in all kind of fields to be successful.

But the promise, her wish to surrender to him and only to him, was something that made his teeth ache with the need of marking her, like a thing.

But he couldn’t do it. He was already in hot water, having her so close and so far at the same time. 

«If she wishes so, and if, only if, she gives me a clear sign she doesn’t feel coerced to something. After all, true surrender comes from a place of power, not a place of despair» he said to himself, tasting the last of his brandy.

That was the only thing an honourable man could do.

Wish for the fall.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Toes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you wont believe me, but this is based in real events. (Ask me if you dare!)

You check out the numbers a second time. Then a third time. The credit cards don’t match and that’s OK; they weren’t supposed to match because they aren’t even from the same bank. 

The screen name is the same, tho. The address in file rings twice; once for the mild-mannered office drone that wasn’t even a blip in the radar of MI6 and once for a down-on-his-luck arms dealer. 

There’s a connection here, and you’re not making it. 

You are at your office, alone. Is a mid-sized closet broom, but with a touchpad in the door and a nice chair, one of the ergonomic ones. Is almost nine pm and you have been working for twelve hours straight, with just some bathroom breaks and a lunch at the café two blocks away, a long time ago. The conclusion is close; you almost had it, as sure as you can feel the dryness of your mouth and your achy back.

You are almost sure there’s no one at the office in that part of the building at this time; you saw Mr. Holmes depart early with Anthea to a work function; a black tuxedo that made your mouth water with want. It has been at least three months but he gets you weak in the knees all the same. But now you are letting some of your cheekiness show; one of this days, you’ll get him to smile at you, you’re sure. 

You let your uncomfortable shoes behind and put in a pair of simple black flats, as you walk towards the kitchen. A new cup of coffee is not going to help, just make you more jittery, but maybe a little change of scenery will help.

As you fill your cup with something closely resembling more black tar than coffee, a reflection in the chromed electric kettle lets you know you’re not alone. You turn around and there he is, a little bit dishevelled (must be windy outside, because his hair is a little bit ruffled and his cheeks are pink tinged because of the cold; Mr. Holmes never indulged in drink in work functions), a glass of water in hand.

-Burning the midnight oil, dear?- Oh my GOD, he must have been drinking. That would explain the pink cheeks and the endearment; until now Mr. Homes had been very detached towards you. Your stomach explodes with a million of butterflies as he looks at you and smiles very slightly, and as always, when you get nervous, you start to talk, three hundred miles per second.

You explain to him your theory that the Gonzalez´s Brothers were using a credit card scam to collect funds to get up and running their arms dealing business; the Moriarty´s disappearance had caused a great shift in the criminal underworld. Some were still trying to get on their feet again. He hums and nods in all the right places, even follows you to your office to let you show him the numbers. As you feel his breath close to your neck, so close that you’re sure if you turn right, you’ll be kissing him; a thought invades your mind, giving you the last piece you need to solve your problem. You feel tears of happiness fill your eyes.

-I got it, sir! The key to were they are is the IP address they used to buy the new edition of Call OF Duty! The Playstation Network is the key to were they are staying; I have three addresses; here, here and here - you say, showing him in the map. -Dispatch officers to this locations and I’m sure we will find them, with their stash, of course. - You turn to the right, careful of not moving too fast and feeling him close still; he’s right there, looking at you with something close to fondness in his eyes. 

One of his hands moves softly and the back of his hand caresses your face. You burn.

-You’re quite extraordinary, you know that?- a moment later he seems to catch himself and he straightens, face blank. - Are you sure, about the addresses? This is too important to mess up.-

You get up too, trying not to show how nervous you are.

-Yes sir. I’m sure of my work. 

He looks at you a last time, and then he pulls a mobile from his suit pocket, dialling a number from memory. He speaks sure in the phone, giving orders to whoever is in the other side of the line, even as he offers you your coat and purse, ushering you out of your office. He escorts you to his car, but as you sit in the back, he doesn’t make a move to enter the vehicle. 

-Take tomorrow off, would you?- he says, a freshly lit cigarette in his hand. You just nod, and he closes the door and you doze until the driver announces that they are just outside your place.

You take the stairs slowly, and drop to your bed completely dress except for the shoes. In the morning, you have a new message with just a link to a news site; the title «ARMS DEALERS ARRESTED» makes you chuckle and you sleep again, thankfully without dreaming of anything of anybody.


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Somewhere To Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ehmmm... Someone is jealous, I think.

Mycroft had to bite his tongue. Truths were to be used in the same way as a weapon; not dangling from your lips like Sherlock liked to do, for shock value. But this time, he really had to make an effort.

His aide (Idunn, not Anthea) was flirting, badly, with one of the other assistants at the reunion with the Bank of London. Of course, nothing so crass as bad pickup lines or flashing of the ankles, oh no. But the looks, the blushes, and the lip bites ... So shameless.

Not that the others were to notice a thing, bit was terribly unprofessional of her to be so blatant, and at a meeting!

(In my face. Right in my face, she has no shame, she needs to know her place, she needs to be put in her place)

So, when the meet got to a close, and as she collected all the documents needed for this reunion, Mycroft sided to Lord's Raleigh assistant and in a whisper warned him about flirting with young girls, if he didn't want his wife to know about his porn addiction and his increased money problems.

Of course, she noticed it. Her face was stony, mood sour, all the way back. They came into his office together, and she shuffled around the files in his desk brusquely, before asking for permission to leave.

\- Of course, you are free to go - he said, sitting at his desk, toying with a pen - and next time, you should take in account how badly you are perceived, and myself by association, when you decide to be as blatant as you have been today. 

She gave two steps to the door, but turned as the impact of his words hit her.

\- I'm sorry sir, but I don't remember being something other that a proper assistant for yourself today. Maybe you could point me to the source of your discontent with my work? - she said, teeth clenching.

\- Oh, don't play coy. Of course you know that Lord's Raleigh assistant is married. Even someone so dim as you could see the wedding ring in his left hand.-

She planted herself next to his desk, eyes blazing.  
\- I haven't been other that proper sir. I'm sorry if you feel that any of my actions could reflect badly on yourself.-

Mycroft snorted.  
\- I'm sorry? I was waiting for you to "accidentally" drop to your knees and grope the poor man. He would never go for someone like you, you know that, don't you? He's playing you; he's a bored new parent looking for a cute little girl to make him feel better. A little attention does the trick. You look pathetic panting after someone so clearly... Uninterested.

She clenched her teeth, muscles clamping all down her left side. Her right hand closed to a fist, even if she tried to conceal it, crossing her arms. Mycroft was appalled at that display of emotions.

\- I think I can gauge myself if someone is interested or not, sir. And if you think I've been "blatant" to anyone other than yourself, I know you're wrong.

A delicious, but surely... No, this woman wasn't one to make double entrendes. Mycroft looks at her, even when he knows not to do it. 

Her bosom is heaving, pale skin on display; a blush that starts at her face (cheeks blazing, neck pink, chest... Getting redder by the second), legs quivering slightly.   
Labored breaths.  
A sweet, acidic smell permeating the air.  
A drop of sweat at her brow.

Mycroft, hating himself a little bit, knowing he's condemning them both, looks at her, really looks at her, and says the only thing he had really wanted to, for a long long time.

\- Kneel.


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling out of control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im just a demisexual who doesnt know how to smut... Ill promise you, IT WILL HAVE SEX!... in the next chapters jaja

You at first think you got it wrong but he says it again, the «kneel» burning your tongue somewhat, the cold of the floor masking the aches of your knees for a moment. He uses one hand to trace the fine bones of your face; to check on the heat of your cheeks, to walk a fine, fine line down your cleavage.

You’ve closed your eyes. You’re at his mercy.

He stops touching you and you blink, hoping this isn’t all. He licks his thumb, deliberately getting it shinier with his spit and touches you: first the cheekbones, then your collarbones, your eyelids, marking you. He licks his thumb pad once again and touches your lips, tracing your mouth and then slowly, gently, gets you to open and gets his finger inside.

His finger is hot in your mouth, and slightly salty. You suck it, just like a lollipop, hoping that, if you do it good enough, he could feed you with something more... substantial as the night goes on. His breath hitches, and this the first time you’ve make him sound like that.

His other hand grabs your neck and he finally kisses you; you’re drenched in sweat and trembling, and he doesn’t stop; he smells of sweet tangerines and smoke, tastes of rain.

His hands are strong and sure in your body, touching and caressing until, when he stops, you see you have almost all the little buttons of your shirt undone. He helps you up, just to drag you to him and drop a big, messy kiss between your breasts.

He looks like a madman, all mussed and lips red, his eyes at half mast and his hands in your hips. You know that, if you wanted, he would fuck you at his desk, right now. But you want something more than just one good time.

So you stop. Slowly disengage his hands from your body, and start to button your shirt once more. He gets up to his private bathroom as you so your best to put yourself to rights, and when he comes back he smells of fancy soap and has a drop of water caught in his eyelashes.

You look down his body and you see he is still hard; you can’t cast stones because the wetness between your legs feels dense like honey.

Neither of you speaks. He gets close to you, slowly, like he’s trying not to spook you. You close your eyes again, expecting to be dismissed, or worse, fired.

-You need to go home and sleep. And feed yourself. Because when I call for you - he says whispering in your ear - I want you to feel it all. I want you to beg for me. And I want you to submit to my every whim. That’s how it will be.-

He straightens himself and you stumble a little bit, feeling a little dizzy. You make two steps back and turn to the door, feeling his stare undressing you bit by bit, until you open the door and then you’re out, achy, wet and wanting.

Waiting.


	19. Chapter Nineteenth: Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of smut, some long-distance action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating the tags! Thanks to everyone giving my fic a chance, I'm so happy!

Chapter Nineteenth: Shine

For a moment, nothing seemed to change. Work was at an all time high, with trying to avoid an armed conflict in Argentina (and assuring that the conflict for the Falkland Islands won't cause a drop in the public image of the Crown). So, the thing I most wanted to do had to wait.  
And wait. And wait.  
And wait a little more.

I knew she was feeling hurt by my perceived disinterest, but... This things take time. I wanted to take my time with her. An indulgence, she was. Just seeing her, her hair shining in the low light of the monitor, the smell of coffee following her everywhere.

Of course that Anthea knows. I've trained her too well, it seems. The dissaproval was clear in her eyes, the morning after. I know there's not footage, I don't have surveillance inside my office, but she must have seen something different in me.

I feel...

I've been following her, tracing her movements again. I don't have time to do anything else.  
I have some things discretely shipped to my flat in the city. Just in case.

I... Can't think of little else. Her smell, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her body underneath her clothes.

The things I want to do to her.

Tonight, I'm at a reunion with one of the Deputies of Martinique Island, in the Antilles. The trace of Moriarty's organization led me here, in a place under French flag. There is nothing of interest for someone like Moriarty here, but no stone can be left unturned. I'm chocked in the wool of my suit and the Windsor knot of my tie, and I decide to spend the night on the island before going back to London. There's a simple apartment allocated for the use of foreign diplomats like myself, and I place a call to the office to have them shuffle my appointments for the next day as Anthea checks the place for bugs and... Other unpleasantness.

I won't say I didn't expect her to answer, but... Is late in the city. And she's still at the office. I ask her to go to my office to retrieve some things from the safe, as Anthea gives me the all clear and I can finally get the damned tie off my neck. Alone at last.

\- Sir, there's just one reunion that is better to have cancelled. The thing with Mr. Ortiz about the budget cuts for the CIO branch. That man doesn't understand that we're already understaffed.- She sounds ok over the phone. I imagine her sitting in my chair, how nice would feel the leather in her naked back.

\- What are you doing?- I ask. I have the phone over my ear as I unbutton the undervest first, shirt second. The buttons feel strangely cold against my fingers. I clumsily arrange the pieces of my suit in a hanger, hearing her on the phone, spluttering.  
\- I'm, just doing as you asked, sir! I have your agenda, and I'm trying to contact Mr. Ortiz to cancel...-  
\- Is the door of my office closed?- I ask, touching my nape. I'm sweating already.  
\- Yes sir, like always- she says, a hitch in her breath.  
\- Sit in my chair. I want you to look for a thing in the third drawer, left side of the desk.  
She enters the code to unlock the drawer silently, as I take off my shoes and socks. The bed looks inviting enough, but sleep won't find me easily tonight, I know.

\- There's a file, sir. My file?  
I take off my pants and put them in the back of a chair, hearing her leafing through the file.  
\- The things that are here, sir...- her voice sounds tiny and faint through the phone. I scratch my face, feeling unmoored suddenly. 

\- This is not a threath - I say, arranging myself on the bed -What I want you to know is, I know you, and you don't know me, but...- I sigh, a thread of anxiety chocking me - I know what you want from me, and I can give it to you, if you want. But you have to tell me yes. You have to surrender to me first. 

I hear her gasp, the telltale sounds of her reclining in my chair. That image was exceedingly pleasant.

\- Can I see you when you get back, sir? - her voice sounds high, but strong somehow. A terrible tempting tought invaded me.  
\- Yes, my dear. Can I ask for something as well?

My pulse is jittery. I imagined her legs splayed on my desk, skirt riding high in her thighs.

\- Yes sir... everything you want. 

That was the nail in the coffin.

\- I want to hear you touch yourself. But let me tell you how.

Her assent got me harder. I've trying to ignore my erection since I first heard her voice in the phone.

\- I want you to take off your shoes. Tell me, what are you wearing?  
\- A skirt, a shirt and leggings.  
\- Take the leggings off. Hike up your skirt, midthight. Unbutton your shirt completely, but don't take it off. Just... Open. 

I cupped myself through my boxers, as I heard her do as I asked. She sounds a little short of breath, as imagine her taking off her clothes.

\- Now I want you to lower the temperature, five degrees. You must feel hot already, aren't you, my dear?

I take my undershirt off. I feel myself flushed and weak, my hand working out my prick, head wet with precum. My whole face is hot.

\- I'm... Waiting for your instructions, sir. I feel... Wet. Can I touch myself, sir?

My head is a mess.

\- Touch your nipples first. Are they hard? Do they feel the cold or are you too hot?

She moans, her voice screeching a bit in my ear. 

\- Answer when I ask or I won't let you touch - I warned her, feeling light-headed and frantic.

\- They... They feel nice. My nipples are very sensitive, Sir. 

\- I know, my dear. I like to watch. I like to watch you, you know - I said, my hand trying to drag this moment, trying not to come already.  
\- I can feel you watching, Sir. I like it.- She says, the sounds of cloth and skin over skin. Her neck would be flushed already, mouth bitten red. 

\- I want you to touch yourself slightly over your underwear, dear. But touch lightly. I won't let you come tonight. The first time you come, will be by my hand, and not before. 

She moans again, a thing of beauty; a long, dragged sound like caramel.

My body can't resist the dual stimulation of my hand and her voice, crooning in my ea

\- The first time you'll came with me, will be in my tongue, would you like that? You, in my bed, unable to move, unable to do anything other that come with my tongue inside you, with me touching you until I tire of making you come - I say, panting, feeling my orgasm like a wave sweeping me over.

The last thing I remember before coming, is her saying "yes" and "please", like her lungs were on fire.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't remember last night conversation... And you start doubting yourself. A little angsty

Chapter Twenty: Friction

You woke up, scalp drenched in sweat, still with your clothes on. You had the strangest dream last night, a dream of fire and sweetness, something like spiced honey running in your veins, making you restless.

"It must have been a dream" you say to yourself, going to the bathroom and washing up, trying to put yourself to rights. 

Today is Sunday, and you are (at last!) not on call for the next two days. It feels like something is eluding you, something important, something big, but for the life of you... You can't remember.

You think about dreaming of your boss.   
Oh my goodness, what a dream. It was like everything you wanted, all at once. His firm voice in your ear, the want dripping from every word he said to you. The precise way he just knows. How to get you to obey. How to get you wet, in a second. How much you have wanted to get up to something in his office since the first time you saw him there, like a king in his throne.

Could he give you what you want? Is he going to use it against you? Is he safe, for your body, for your heart?

Yes to the first two, maybe for the next one, and a hard no for the last.

You dress up in a clean pair of sweats and a long sleeved shirt, and prep your coffee tray. The routine of making your breakfast is sacred in weekends. You drink your coffee, sit with a nice book and maybe, if your energy levels are ok, you will see some people.

Maybe visit a museum? Or going to the bookstore? Or Netflix and chill (ja!) by yourself on the couch. 

You feel something. Maybe, like a need, or a spark. 

The thing last week, with Mr. Holmes.

You're sure he wasn't serious. 

He, he could have anything, anyone he wants. 

He is traveling. Maybe, last night... He had dinner with a beautiful person. Someone who isn't as smart as he is (who could be?), but at least it wasn't a goldfish. Someone like a koi fish, all shiny scales and pretty patterns.

Fuck! The coffee is cold. Maybe you have to stop daydreaming about someone who won't give you more than a passing though.

He was stressed, you were there, he even throw you out of his office! 

Maybe, he won't want you to work for him anymore. Maybe... He wanted to know how strong your crush was, even after all this years.

Maybe he wanted a laugh.

You could imagine him, laughing with his current lover, all pressed up naked against other person, telling them all about this silly little girl, this cute but fat girl with his crush that could be seen from a mile away, and how silly she was, that she could think someone so handsome, so smart, so powerful as Mycroft Holmes could show more than a smidge of interest for her?

"Oh my God, I'm being so stupid!" You said to yourself, facepalmimg.

In two days time, when you go back to the office and see him again, you'll do your best to be the most professional and the most confident in yourself you could be.

He came to you. Maybe he's not as interested as you, but ... There's something there. 

You have to grin and bear it, this want you have for this man. He's... Too much.

If you want to have a chance, you need to be exactly what he needs and nothing more. And if this means you'll have another chance to taste that delicious mouth and that pale skin, of course you're game.

You could be anything he wants. Anything he needs.

Just for a taste.


	21. Chapter Twenty One: Behind Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We´re getting closer to the first date, if you can call it that way. Mycroft longs for you, and of course, cannot avoid his tendency to spy a little.  
I don´t think you care.

I see her first thing in the morning, walking around her flat.

Of course I don’t have her flat bugged, that would be exceedingly crazy.  
There’s just a camera outside, in an old telephone pole.

She looks lovely, if a little rumpled, in grey pyjamas and t-shirt, no makeup. I like her like that. I like to think of her doing just that; being in my space, getting me a cup of strong tea, papers of the day in a tray, handing me my robe and washing my back in the tub.

Very domestic, my fantasies. It bothers me a lot.

Yes, I feel lonely sometimes. But I knew it came with the position. I do what I have to do for the Crown. I have a duty to use my talents as best I can.

The camera is not the best quality, but... I see her.  
I want to do something.  
I call.

-Hello, darling. I wanted to let you know that a car will be coming tomorrow at 08.00 pm to take you to my flat. I want you to wait for me there - I say, not waiting for a hello. She doesn’t respond, her quick answer enough. - I’m flying from New Zealand this time, so we are supposed to be landing at 9.30 pm. So - I said to her, watching her figure dropping to the loveseat next to the window - I expect you to have dinner for two waiting. I think we need to have a chat before proceeding further, and you asked me for a meeting after all... Did you have nice dreams? - I ask, thumbing my lip. Her taste in my lips, the thing I want the most. Her kisses, so deep and slow and wet, and me drowning in her scent. I squirm in my seat, uncomfortable. 

-I thought... it was all a dream. I remember your voice in my ear, that night...- she says, breathless. From the corner of my eye, I see Anthea, busily typing in her Blackberry. It makes no sense to hide anything from her, and at the same time, I wish for that luxury. My pants are getting tighter by the second, and my hands are shaking a bit.

\- I can show you the videos if you don’t believe me - I say, seeing the logs for my office. No one has been there after she got out almost two days ago. I’m sure that the scent of her is trapped in that office, waiting to ambush me the next time I get inside. I bit my lip, the pain anchoring me somewhat. I just have to wait a couple of hours more, and everything I’ve wanted will be mine.

-I dream about you all the time - she whispered, and I see her crosslegged in the seat, her bum barely fitting; the image is too grainy to catch any expression, but I see that her eyes are closed. 

\- I cant wait to see you, my dear girl - I breathe, overwhelmed with a feeling of longing. There’s some sadness too, I don’t know why.

-Is Italian OK?- She says, voice firmer. - There’s this place that makes a magnificent lasagne, and I have a bottle of Merlot that is from my corner of the world... if you dare to try something a little less pricey that your usual, sir - her cheekiness grounds me. I know this Idunn. 

Anthea is looking at her mobile, but she’s smiling. I try not to feel too exposed. The plane is almost over   
Zurich. We´re close to landing.

-I´ll call when we land, my dear. Try not to get too bored waiting for me, OK? - I cannot mask my fondness for her. 

Caring is careless. Alone protects me. This are things I tried to teach Sherlock, and know I found I’m the hypocrite he always accuses me of being.

I drop my phone in my coat pocket, fastening my seat belt. I really try not to smile too wide.

I cant wait to see her again.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two: Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last! The meeting we are been waiting for... who knows how many chapters! But, still, a final wrench in the wheel (un palo en la rueda, diríamos los argentinos)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will be editing the tags for this one! TW: panic attack; TW: Discussion (barely) of past sexual assault/abuse

You’re so incredibly tired. After running yourself ragged at the office, after changing thrice, doubting about your outfit, after feeling the tension of getting to his flat in the city; a lavish place in the skirts of London, a thing of beauty all decked in ivory, blue and grey. It feels weird having your own key card and code to his place; after all this time, this is Anthea´s territory; this a place as private as Mr. Holmes could have, with guards in the front door and cameras in every corner of the hallway. You have never had the chance to see this place before today.

This is no place for someone like you. It feels like too clean, too hotel-like. Is luxurious, but too empty too. You have a peek on every room, and just the bedroom and adjoining bathroom had a touch of personality; the collection of bubble bath and scents next to the jacuzzi and the well thumbed books next to the bed tell a lot about the inhabitants of this place. 

You check the fridge to see if Mr. Holmes has his favourite foods and beverages but, even if there’s abundant food and drink, you just take a glass of water from the tap and a cereal bar form your backpack. Is eight pm. and his plane hasn’t landed yet, so you take a book out and try to read, the butterflies in your stomach making you queasy.

Two hours later, you get roused form your nap in the couch by a hand caressing your face. You open your eyes and smile, because you have been waiting and wanting him so, so much... He smiles at you, and you have to kiss that beautiful grin of his, just hoping that he allows you that, just a peck on the lips, nothing more. 

He feels strong through the wool of his suit; he has no under vest today, the most naked you have seen him, and the blue of his silk tie brings out the green of his eyes, somehow. His mouth opens for you, cool and tasting of mint and cigarettes. His long fingered hands knead your back as yours find his neck and shoulders to hold on; without not knowing how, he has you in your back over the couch, between your legs, all heat and passion and too many feelings.

The kisses in your neck turn to him lapping at your nipples; you moan and the wetness between your legs makes itself know, soaking your underwear. He has all his clothes on, but has been taking yours off. He bites lightly at your breast, one hand down your leggings and the other unbuttoning further the front of your dress. Now his fingers are deftly tracing circles over your damp pubis, and the feel of his erection poking you in the leg awakens something no so good in you. You freeze. 

He watches you like a hawk, so when your panicked eyes found his he starts to retreat slowly, helping you get up and put your clothes in order. He’s tender as he buttons you up, even if you can see his erection distending the perfect line of his trousers. He gets up and pads to the kitchen, taking the time to gets his shoes off. When he came back, sans jacket, he has two glasses in one hand and a bottle of water. He takes another bottle of something expensive from his drink cabinet, offering you some. You refuse, opting for filing your glass with water; he has two fingers of scotch or something in his.

He looks at you, sitting in an armchair; not too close not too far.  
\- You panicked - he says, after taking a hearty swing from his glass. You nod, feeling like bad, bad girl. After all, he was doing exactly as he promised, and as you asked. You wanted to be ravished by this gorgeous, confident man. But the pain (oh, the pain) had make itself known, a wave of nausea accompanying it.

\- The other day, in my office... - he says, the glass in his hand wavering slowly -... did you feel like this? Did I make you...? - a mask of nonchalance on his face, but a dash of panic in his eyes tells you all that you need to know.

\- No, sir. I’m sorry... - you say, your eyes full of tears. - Is not always like that, I swear! But sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed... It was so suddenly. I panicked... I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t want to disappoint you! I swear, if you give me time...-

He stops you right there, with a gesture of his hand. 

\- Not today, not tomorrow, but, when you feel ready, and only if you want, you’ll tell me what happened to you, yes darling? I must say, part of this... situation is my fault, I got here and I saw you waiting for me, all laid out in the couch... - he takes another sip, and has to clear his throat before speaking - I swear I just wanted to wake you up gently, but... You kissed me. And I lost myself in you.-  
His clear eyes bore into yours, and you redden. You feel wet between your legs, hair in disarray, surely missing one or two buttons on your dress; and he wasn’t any better. No tie, no jacket, red lips curved over the rim of his glass, hair all messed up.

He gives you a slight smile, and you let a little bit of your panic go. 

\- We were supposed to talk, tonight. So, lets talk. Just... talk. Until we figure it out our limits, yes? Then, we can make an... appointment, lets call it, with a date and a place. But now, I need something from you. Without this, we cant go on.-

This is, you think. The Moment. The Point Of No Return. 

\- Tell me - he said in that velvety voice - exactly what you want -

You look at the floor, a point just between the carpet (a dark moss green) and the leg of the coffee table. You feel like your whole body is a live wire.

\- I want... To be told. What to do. I want to be praised, if I'm good. I want to be owned, and cared for. 

He gets up of his armchair, and you're still. You don't know what he wants you to do, so when you feel the caress on your cheek, the other hand at your wrist, holding it firmly, you soak up the tender gesture.

\- Do you want to be... My very, my own good girl? I'm not to be a Daddy, but I could be a Sir, just for you, my darling. My dear, dear girl. 

You assent softly, trying not to dislodge his hand. But something stops you. There's important things that cannot be left unsaid.

\- I don't want to be taken against my will, Sir - you said firmly, a pang of long forgotten pain echoing in your body. - And I don't want to be humiliated. I'm not into being shared with others. I just want... To be yours, and yours only, and I will be good, and I will serve you, at the best of my abilities, sir. 

He looks at you with his cool, green eyes. He knows what you are saying, and you pray that he doesn't ask for details, not tonight. He will ask, just because a man like him likes to know as much as he can about everything. You would be telling, in time. In your own time. But not tonight, God. 

He pushes himself up, and walks back to his seat. He's toying with his glass, not something very usual.  
He takes a sip and looks at you again.

\- I have my limits too... I really hope that you understand that nothing that happens between the two of us could ever be public. I don't do relationships. Or feelings - he says, watching the amber liquid in his glass. - I'll do my best to take care of you, but my work... Our work, it always takes precedence. Don't get confused, please. I want this. I like you. I want you. But that doesn't mean this is more than...-  
\- An indulgence - you finished for him.

He smiles at you.  
\- I like you because you're smart.  
\- The smartest goldfish in the pond? - You ask, getting up and walking the few steps until you're next to him. You plop yourself next to him in the floor, your back next to his leg, and your head on his knee. He takes the hint and starts carding his fingers through your hair, slowly, as he sips his scotch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you, this fic is very, deeply personal. Why write something that doesn't show who I am, what was my journey? This is my take, my cup of tea. I hope you have been enjoying this fic, I know is not for everyone, but I hope you'll like it.  
We are close to the end now! Stay tuned!


	23. Announcement! About the WIP state of this fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! The pressure of my job and the holidays are terrible for my inspiration (basically because I need to be in a certain mood to continue working on this fic), but rest assured I'm working on it, but probably won't be publishing until the first days of 2020, I guess? Thanks for all the subscriptions and the support and the comments, they fuel my writing! Love you all

Happy holidays and I'll see you soon!


	24. Chapter twenty Three: Suave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft can´t take this anymore...

Chapter Twenty Three: Suave

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Letting work interrupt my plans again. But when someone is an essential cog in The Machine, a lot of things could go wrong.

I’ve been doing some reading. Light reading, if you must. 

Shibari. Sensory deprivation. Tickling. Wax play.

Sometimes movies got things wrong, I suppose. But one of the things they got right, it was the contract bit. 

Just thinking about it got me hot and bothered. It could be said that both of us had put their boundaries in place, the last time we saw each other. That night I had her in a car to her place before the clock got to twelve. I’m not a nice man, and I wanted. But it wasn’t the time.

I want to taste the fruit when is the sweetest.

I adjust myself in my trousers, noting that I should go to my tailor soon, to get something more... roomy. I’m supposed to be in better control of my instincts, but this had dragged in too long. 

Of course, that was the exact moment I received the email.

To: mycroftholmes@departmentoftransport.gov.en  
From: idunn@ofanstadistics.gov.en

I gat it! they are laundering the money wth the Barricars shell compaly at the aguilatransports.com.en DNS I saww the numbers they have 2 fiverr jumps btween te transactions and i cam prove it sro!

See: barricarstransfershsbc.calc

Of course, the Barricars file. Something that I had her look over, knowing that, as the best of my team, if she couldn’t, it couldn’t be done.

I skim the file. There are receipts, transaction numbers, screenshots of messages, everything. 

I forward them to the legal team. Then, as I write a message for the eventual prosecutor, I make a call.   
I ask Anthea to shuffle all my meetings to tomorrow afternoon. There’s a lot that could be handled by phone or Anthea; so, unless there is an armed conflict, it could wait.

I have something more important in mind.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m waiting for her in the car when she gets inside, big happy smile. Is so beautiful I have to smile too, is so infectious.

When I feel the car start,I grasp her hand and kiss the palm, softly. The look on her face tells me this is not what she was waiting for.

\- I think that the work you have done today deserves to be recognized, isn’t it? So, we are going to have dinner at my place, my dear. You did good today - I said, as my other hand cards through her hair and she closes her eyes, almost vibrating in place - and you deserve to rest, and be fed. You have been working too hard, and after your report, I’m grateful. And, we need to talk about... an scenario I have in mind. But first, lets get to my place...- 

My flat is immaculate like always. I send her to take a shower and to dress in the clothes I have selected for her. Our dinner is already at the coffee table; just a plate of cold cuts and cheese, some fruits and a bottle of Chablis. Nothing too taxing in our stomachs. I have a little of the wine, feeling no hunger whatsoever.

Well, not for food, I think to myself, as she enters the room.

She has a blue velvet robe; not her own, but mine. Underneath, a simple camisole of silk in a dark red color, with panties to match. My robe is too tight on her chest and belly, and it doesn’t close properly, but as I see her, doing her best not to flash me, a sense of deep satisfaction makes my chest ache. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.

I have put a cushion on the floor at my feet; she sits daintily, silent as a mouse. Some music plays in the background and I don’t care for that one bit. I’m entertained feeding her pieces of cheese and meat as I admire the flush of her chest, beautiful from every angle. I offer her some wine from my own glass, and she sips, her eyes shining. Her pulse flutters on her neck as I caress her softly, seeing the bags under her eyes and the pallor of her skin. She’s here but I need to take care of her, i need to make her feel special, make her feel cherished.

And this is not how it was supposed to be; I’m not supposed to have no feelings for this beautiful creature in my care. 

Shes mine now. And that hurts exquisitely, burning in my chest. I don’t know if this is affection, but I care for her, how I couldn’t...

I clean a drop of wine from her pink lips, and I cannot take it anymore. I sit up, taking her hand and inviting her to get up. The wine has made her drowsy, and her cheeks are red, but she smiles at me, and I take her to the master bedroom.

I ask her to disrobe me. 

She takes every piece piece of clothing slowly, first taking my coat and waistcoat, then the tie. She smiles faintly; even when I didn’t ask, she doesn’t speak. Her face tells me she´s enjoying this as much as I do; between the shirt and my shoes, I sneak several languid caresses to her face, to her chest, slowly taking in her her legs; her skin is soft against my hands, burning my fingertips. When she drops to her knees slowly to take my pants off, I’m almost to the point of bursting, and that’s not what I want.

-No- I say, as I snag a cushion from the bed. I get her up, and I get to my knees.

-You’re going to have to trust me - I say, as her eyes open in surprise. I open the bathrobe in one fluid movement, my hands roaming, taking her in. She shivers slightly, eyes closed. I take the panties off, kissing her belly as I caress her slowly, one arm behind her waist and my hand slipping slowly, sweetly, until with a little groaned «please!» I can feel how she opens for me, my fingers dipping into her wetness. 

She tastes of tea, and smells like berries. My mouth chases the taste, and the sound of her pleasure; my hands are full of her and she trembles in my grasp, until I heard

-No more, please...-

My mouth is full of her and my cock is bursting with blood, making stand difficult. I feel weird, I havent done this in years. I’m used to be safe, and that means lonely. As I kiss her, finally, sharing with her the taste of her orgasm, I cant remember of what I was afraid of.

I peel the robe and the bra of her body, as he helps me out of my briefs. Taking a pair of leather cuffs from my dresser, I lay on the bed, and as I put a condom on, I ask her:

\- I want you on top, but you cant touch me.-

I show her the cuffs. I let her see that they have metal brooches, but Velcro in the inside, so...

-So you can take them off if its too much. But..- I say, watching her face, needing to be sure.

-But you want me to trust you. You want me to see for myself I can be vulnerable with you - she says, looking at the cuffs. Her eyes focus on me now.

-I’m your Master, and you are...-

-I’m yours, Sir- she says. -I trust you, I’ve trusted you for a long time. So you can do with my body as you please, and I trust you with my life, and my body, and my mind.-

Her words ring true in the darkness of my bedroom. I help her to get on top of me, slowly lowering over my length. She sighs deeply as she bottoms down, her flesh heated against mine. My hands close over her wrists, and I cuff her, her hands on her back. She looks afraid.

When I ask, she says - I don’t want to crush you - with eyes worried and biting her lip. I buck up slowly, one hand on the chain of the cuffs holding her, and I’m letting her feel the rush, and feeling it myself, letting the pleasure start again.

-I want you to crush me - I say, as our rhythm starts, as her face flushes again, her mouth trying not to say a word. - I want you to crush me, I want to feel you in my bones... I want to carry you in my skin all day, I want to smell of you, I want as to be as close as possible and not enough, I want to give you pleasure, I want to hear you, my sweet, sweet girl...-

I feel her orgasm with a little cry, the chain of the cuff still grasped in my hand, and finally, finally let myself go. It pierces me, the pleasure, and it hurts, but I don’t want to think why.

I lower her slowly on my chest, a sweaty mess, as I help her to get out of the cuffs. I arrange her at my side, my legs trembling a bit, seeing her all naked in my bed; is been a long time since I had someone so beautiful. She asks in a breath: -Was I to your linking, Sir? - her eyes shining in the light of the streetlamps.

I lay her head in my chest, and feeling the sleep taking over us, I whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

I am happy, I am whole.


	25. Epilogue: Freaks Like Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end, but not the end of all things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you readers! Thank you for the kudos, thank you for the comments, thank you for reading and for being there! This is something that i started to write to heal myslef, and it has given me so much more. Enjoy, and let me know if you want more!

Epilogue: Freaks Like Us

As Mycroft´s exquisitely cold hand closes over your throat slowly, enveloping you with his nicotine smelling fingers, you think to yourself:

This is a new world. And I like it.

This new world means waking with Mycroft at least once a week in his bed, him petting you softly and having tea in his kitchen later; mean enjoying the sun from a spot in the rug, feeling pampered and lazy as he plays with your hair while the reads his newspaper in the couch. It means switching from your tiny apartment to another one bigger, in a safer place in the city and with cameras and bio-metric locks at the door. 

You don´t work directly for him anymore. That’s the thing you miss the most. The excuse to bring to him a folder just to have a peek at his face as he signs or reads the thing. But he messages you frequently (for him): at least twice a week to have dinner or tea, and in the weekends to spend the night. 

Is very domestic and sweet. 

But why is something missing? Why is there an ache, a nagging doubt, a little pain like a splinter making their way into your heart?

There’s something that´s not OK.

\-------------------------------------

It comes to a head an afternoon where the Inspector invited you to have a drink at the pub. It had been three days without a message from your Master, but you are feeling rebellious, and besides, he knows exactly where you are at every moment, so, this shouldn’t be a problem. 

Isn’t it?

Lestrade is there, but John and Sherlock are there too. You plaster a fake smile (just for Sherlock; John is a good man) and decide to have just two drinks and go home.

\-----------------------------------------

Eight (maybe? You’re not sure) drinks later Sherlock is watching you like a hawk while you laugh with John about the latest Sun headline, when Sherlock whispers you something you don’t want to think about:

\- Is he bored yet? It has been... hmm... at least three months since the first time he fucked you. The marks on your wrists have faded to almost nothing so you haven’t seen him this week nor the one before. And I know this because you seem in a supreme NEED to unwind- he says, playing with the straw in your drink.

You feel your teeth grinding, and a massive wave of pain flooding from your jaw to your neck. Your smile is strained. 

Suddenly, you see that Sherlock and you are alone at the table. John and Greg had gone to the bar to get more beers, you think. You feel more than see Sherlock´s thin lips kissing your wrist, in the exact spot the cuffs had left a mark the last time you used them with ...

-If you’re bored, we could... entertain ourselves- he says directly to your ear, his lips caressing your earlobe. He sounds a little bit like Mycroft, you think, if its dark and you’re drunk. 

-You think I can do whatever I want? Your brother has his ways - You say, as you try to extricate your hand of his grasp. He holds on firmly, watching you with his weird eyes, clear and at the same time dark with something more sinister. There’s intent there, you feel, but is not...

-If there is a will, there is a way - he says, but his smile is empty of warmth. His hand burns in your skin. 

-They hadn’t the IPA you wanted Sherl... oh, are we interrupting something?- Said Greg in a slurred voice, grinning. John is silent, and he gives the bottle of beer to Greg as he goes to the loo.

You smile to yourself, feeling the pressure in your wrist disappear. You collect your coat, give Lestrade a big kiss on his cheek and the promise to get coffee next week, and a silent, mocking smile to Sherlock.

Why some men are so stupid with what was in their hearts? 

As you get out of the pub and inhale a lungful of the icy air outside, you see a black car parked nearby. You smile again. This Holmes boys, so similar and so different at the same time. 

You start to walk, no paying any attention to the car that starts to follow you. Is not the usual Mycroft uses; it looks more like his personal car, but you’re not sure. Suddenly, the window lowers with an electric whirr.

-Are you trying to catch a cold?- Mycroft asks. He looks good enough to eat, you think: pale and with ruddy cheeks, a little disheveled and with his tie unkempt.

You get in the car, legs frozen in your dress and leggins. He doesn’t kiss you; it seems that just looking at you is enough for now. You drink him in; it has been a hard two weeks. Since you started this you haven’t had a weekend without seeing each other. Of course, Mycroft Holmes is a busy man, but... you’re always hoping to have a little more of him.

He drives and you don’t ask, but try just to get comfortable. The seat belt is on the way and he looks at your way as you try not to get strangled by the damn thing. 

-I’ll have extenders installed next week- he says, watching the road. Of course. Your cheeks redden. You’re too damn fat for his fancy car.

He drives to his flat. You try not to show too much enthusiasm. Mycroft is someone who values discretion and aloofness. You don’t want him to boot you because of your irrepressible emotions. You’re a grown woman. 

He opens the door of the car for you, his hand always cool and dry in yours as he helps you out. You two walk into the lobby and the elevator with your hand tucked into his elbow. You feel elated and fuzzy. Is nighttime and of course no one is there to see it. But he initiated it. He wanted it. That’s enough for you.

You two enter the flat and he commands you to prepare a bath for the two of you; is moments like this when the jacuzzi makes any sense, you decide. He comes just as you are starting to take off your clothes, with two white bathrobes in hand and a tray with two champagne flutes and berries. 

-Are we celebrating something?- You ask, as he helps you to lower yourself into the bath. 

-Nothing to celebrate, my dear. I just... missed having you here- he says, as he gives you a flute and takes one for himself. His piercing gaze stops in the already healed bruises in your chest; just a peek of yellow and a hint of green shows that sometime he left his marks in your body. His nails sink in your thigh, softly, and you bite your lip trying not to moan. 

-The pub has several cameras- he says, finally, after your skin is littered with the half moon marks of his nails. You grin, trying not to, but...

-I saw my dear brother and Dr. Watson there too. You where supposed to catch up with Inspector Lestrade only. Did they say why they were there?- Mycroft smile had something predatory in it, that makes you want to run and hide and makes you want him to catch you, too.

-I guess they were thirsty, Sir- you say, taking a berry from the silver plate and crushing it in your mouth, your lips stained red. Mycroft gulps his drink, leaving the cup aside, and advances until he is between your legs, taking the cup in your hand. 

He starts to drip the still cold champagne in your neck, lapping the liquid from your skin, biting enough that your feel the sting. 

-I have done something wrong, Sir?- you say, your tone mocking. You close your eyes as you feel his tongue invading your mouth forcefully, biting, full of heat and passion. He kisses you for a moment, and gets up and off the bath, lending you a hand to get out too. The two of you, now bundled in the white bathrobes, plop in the rug in front of the chimney.

-I saw the videos, and I can read lips very well - he says, his voice trembling slightly. Is he saying that... he has had enough? Is he trying to break up with you?

-My brother is better than me at this kind of things - he says, his hands clasped in front. A long box, blue, peeks from the pocket of his bathrobe.

-Is titanium and sapphires - he says, taking it off the box. - I know you favor cold colors and blue is your favorite, so... I had this made, just for you. If I close the clasp, just me can get it open again. Is a symbol of us, a symbol of how you hold my... affections.- 

The words were painful for him to say, you could feel it. But sincere.

-I know that you are devoted to me, I can feel it. But I cant give you more than this - he says, closing the bracelet in your left wrist. -But I know and you know, and that´s enough, isn’t it? More than that... could put you in danger. 

You look at the precious thing in your wrist, glinting. You think of the road that took you here, you think of the pain and the doubts and of Sherlock and John and all the things that could go wrong, that will be wrong, sooner or later.

-Yes- you say, a smile in your lips. - This is enough.

The End.


End file.
